


Soldier Boy, Made of Clay, Now an Empty Shell

by FuryReina (ShadowRese)



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, M/M, Major Character Injury, Off-screen Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 08:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowRese/pseuds/FuryReina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agron and his fears for Nasir, his guilt over Duro, and how he must overcome them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soldier Boy, Made of Clay, Now an Empty Shell

**Author's Note:**

> This was written months ago, and I was going through some things on my laptop and found it still sitting there. I began it right after that soundtrack spoiler aired, you all know the one. I just could not deal with what I now knew was going to happen, and was not sure how it was all going to play out, how Agron would wind up in the hands of the Romans. The title is taken from Metallica's "Disposable Heroes".
> 
> \---------------------------- denotes shift in perspective
> 
> I do not own the Spartacus series, nor any of the characters mentioned herein, no matter how much I might wish it otherwise.

Agron ran through the smoke filled streets of Sinuessa en Valle, towards the sound of his brother's voice. Duro's cries of pain were almost more than Agron could bear. Faster he raced, knowing even as he did that it would be too late. He'd never reach Duro in time. Everywhere he turned, Agron saw the mortally wounded, worse though were the dead. He himself was bathed in blood and gore, some of it his own. As he reached the dock, the agonized voice changed. No longer Duro's, it became that of his heart, of his love Nasir. Almost there, he charged forward, giving no thought for his own safety. As the battle cry escaped his lips, the Roman fuck plunged his sword into Nasir, blood arcing and spraying Agron full in the eyes. "Noooo! Nasir!" he yelled.

Agron woke, with the scream still locked in his throat. This was not Sinuessa, Nasir lay sleeping beside him, and Duro was long since for the afterlife. Duro, the one thing in his life Agron would never forgive himself for. His brother had fallen to a Roman sword, one meant for Agron. "I save you this time brother..."

 

As he sat up, Agron ran his fingers through his hair. Sleep would not claim him again this night. He took stock of his surroundings, took measure of where he was. Sinuessa, they had escaped that God forsaken city days ago, only to be trapped here on this ridge, with the chasm in front of them, and Crassus and his army at their back. Now, only the Gods knew what the fate of the rebels would be. He thought back to that fateful day when he and Duro had pledged their cause to Spartacus' own. Some part of him cursed the choice they had made, but another part, stronger, fiercer, praised the heavens for placing Spartacus in his path. His brother had perished in pursuit of freedom, yet Agron still lived. In time, his life had found meaning once again.

Nasir, that contrary little Syrian slave-boy. In those early days, when Nasir's loyalties were as yet unknown, the young man had tugged at Agron's heartstrings. A spark was ignited in a place he had not known could exist. When Nasir was almost killed in part because of Agron's selfishness, he realized there was no time to waste. Any day could be their last and so he had told Nasir of his feelings. Since that day, their relationship had grown into something that even the Gods could envy.

Agron loved Nasir with every fiber of his being. The thought of losing him to anyone or anything drove Agron mad with rage and jealousy. "Jupiter himself would find cause to tremble if he laid hand upon you... I would slay all that would lay attempt to wrest you from my arms." He had said those words, meant them from his very soul.

But now the enemy they faced was one that even the mighty Agron, gladiator, warrior from the lands east of the Rhine, general of the Rebel Army, could not hope to defeat. Death was marching towards them all. That it awaited Agron was something he had always understood. Some dark part of him welcomed it, embraced it even, for truly, how could this war end any other way? Rome would never let them go, and Agron would never again submit to shackles, chains, or whips. But Nasir? Could Agron watch the only one he would ever love die? 

Accepting that his nightmares had robbed him of the chance for much needed rest, Agron began to rise from the pallet. Nasir stirred, opened his eyes sleepily and smiled. "Gods he is beautiful," thought Agron. Even after all this time, sometimes he still could not believe he had been blessed to find a love like this one. He remembered once saying to Crixus, a fellow brother in arms that "To set eyes again upon your heart, I understand now why a man would risk all for such a thing." The words were even truer today than they were when he said them.

Unbidden thoughts came to his mind, and in that instant he knew that he would gladly lay down his life that Nasir might live. Something of the thought must have shown on his face, for Nasir's perfect brow furrowed. "What troubles the one who holds my heart?"

"Naught to cause you concern," murmured Agron softly. He placed his hand on Nasir's side, fingers lightly tracing the scar on his ribcage. The wound had been inflicted in the forests near Mt Vesuvius, before Agron had gathered the courage to tell Nasir of his feelings. Agron had not been there, his own desire for self preservation causing him to break from the Brotherhood. Never again, he vowed to himself. Never again will I allow harm to befall the one I hold most dear in all the world. "Sleep, little Syrian," he whispered as he gently laid a kiss on Nasir's forehead.

Agron stood, shook his broad shoulders, and stretched his muscular arms. Near the entrance to their tent lay their weapons and armor. He strapped on his armor, and thrust his gladius into its scabbard, and picked up his shield. He then donned his thick blue cloak, and briefly laid hand upon Nasir's spear, marveling at how far his little man had come. He turned at the tent flap, to gaze once more at the person who had become his entire world, and slipped quietly into the freezing night air.

Agron needed time alone, to think, to accept his fate. No matter how much he may wish for a different outcome, he could not see any way out. The only thing he needed now was to know that Nasir would live, free to follow his own path, not the one set for him by those who would call themselves masters. As Agron walked he could hear the sound of snow crunching under his boots. He was lost in his own mind, running it all over and over. Searching desperately for a plan that would save his love. His head was beginning to ache. Fuck the Gods! This was futile! Instead of calming nerves, this midnight walk was fouling his mood even more.

That all too familiar rage began to creep in , he could feel it filling his belly, his veins, pumping through his heart. For so long after Duro's death, Agron had lived on nothing else, until Nasir. Now the bloodlust was what kept him alive in battle. He fought as though he were possessed by all the demons of the underworld. His sword slashed and hacked, splitting Roman skull, severing Roman limb, spilling Roman blood. But now in this moment, all the rage was doing was clouding his mind further. He did not realize how far he had wandered from the rebel camp, did not hear the soldiers as they moved in on him. Not until he felt the sword pressed into the small of his back did Agron register the danger he was in. Will I never learn, he thought wryly to himself.

Slowly, he lay hand upon sword and began to turn. "I would not attempt that were I you," a voice stated harshly. Agron grinned widely, teeth flashing in the moonlight. He spun and drew his gladius in one swift, fluid movement. There was no time to use it, as he felt the shield slam into the side of his head and the stars began to swim above him. His vision darkened, he lost consciousness, and sank into the abyss. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Nasir could feel the cold penetrating down to his very bones. He reached behind to pull the massive blue cloak from Agron to cover himself. He knew Agron wouldn't be bothered by this anyway. "Stay warm, little Syrian," he would say. Nasir was not really little or small. He stood a respectable height, it was simply that Agron was so damn tall, and built like a God. Lean, muscular, he exuded strength and power. Nasir on the other hand, was more slight, his muscles wiry and taut. He had grown into a good fighter despite his disadvantage in size. He had excellent instincts, and he was fast! On more than one occasion his speed had saved his life. Of course, on more than one occasion so had Agron!  
Nasir stopped short. The cloak was missing. He turned over, and realized Agron was not on the pallet with him. "Agron?" he called out. "Agron?" No answer. The hour was yet early... could he have begun his day already? They always left the tent together, at the same time, each setting off in opposite directions to their duties. It was one of the few jests of the camp, how the Syrian and the Rhinelander were so attuned they were like one.

Nasir decided to get up and make the most of his day. The wounded would not tend themselves. Bandages must be changed, salves applied. How he had ever become a medicus was something he would never comprehend. It was not a duty he had ever wished for, but now it was one that gave him pride and confidence. He dressed quickly, wrapping his arms and legs in heavy cloth, and headed for the sick tent.

Hours passed, and Nasir lost himself in his work. After tending the wounded, he set to task cutting strips of cloth for more bandages, then collected snow to melt that it might be boiled to wash all the soiled linens. Not until it was time for the midday meal did he cease what he was doing. As he left the makeshift hospital he reminded himself to ask Agron what had been so important that he would leave without waking him.

As Nasir reached the roasting pit, the first thing he noticed was the absence of the smell of meat. Since they had been forced from Sinuessa en Valle days ago, Agron had spent his mornings hunting to feed those who were quartered in this section of the camp. Only those who held Spartacus' ear and were considered his most trusted council were privy to these meetings, where meal was shared and strategy planned. Nasir would have been afforded such right simply through being Agron's lover, but his position as medicus and trainer of new recruits elevated him all on his own merits. He searched for Agron's face in the group gathered, but found him absent. "And Agron?" he inquired of their leader Spartacus.

"None have yet seen him this day," came the Thracian's answer.

" I must find him, I would break words with him," said Nasir.

"Place Agron from mind... I am certain he will return soon, to regale us with tale of his hunting prowess. For now others matters are more pressing."

Nasir decided that to not argue with their leader would be a wise course, and he was also certain Agron would arrive shortly. For the next hour the group discussed the serious issues facing their army, and all the slaves who had now joined their cause. Many of these could not even properly wield weapon, and still others were injured or malnourished and could not be expected to fight. Nasir was to take measure of some of the most promising prospects - this was part of his responsibility as trainer. Many times Agron led the exercises, and he was ever more proud of how well Nasir afforded himself. This was no small source of pride to Nasir as well. In their early days together Agron had often endangered himself through simple act of guarding Nasir, now those days were over.

When meal was concluded and Agron had not appeared, Nasir knew something was wrong. As he continued on to the training grounds, his heart began to ache, knowing that somewhere Agron was in trouble. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Slowly Agron began to become aware of voices speaking... he could hear a fire crackling. He forced himself to steady his breathing and resisted the urge to open his eyes and look around. His head throbbed where he had been hit with the shield and he could taste blood in his mouth. In his mind he cursed the Gods again, and his own foolishness that had led to this. He had not told anyone where he was going and the nights fresh snow would have covered his footprints. Suddenly he pictured Nasir, that frown that marred his otherwise perfect face... that worried look that was almost exclusively reserved for Agron.

 

No, he must concentrate if he was to have any hope of escaping here with his life! That voice... He knew it, would never forget it. It was Lysiscus, that traitorous fool! The one who had betrayed them all, the one who had bribed the Cilician pirates to turn from the rebels towards more profitable ally in Marcus Crassus. But this liar was not a slave, as he would have had them all believe. He stood Roman! His name likely was not even Lysiscus at alll!

"And Caesar, you are certain Spartacus will come for this one?" questioned Marcus Licinius Crassus.

"Of that there is no doubt, Imperator. This one holds meaning for the man. They are as brothers... I have seen this. Upon entering city, when assassination was suspected, this one followed Spartacus like guard dog, he was as shadow. Yes, the barbaric fuck may be rash and foolish, he is yet of use alive. His public torture will draw Spartacus out, giving opportunity to crush him beneath heel." 

Through gritted teeth Agron growled at the Romans. "Spartacus stands no fool... It is you Caesar who shall pay in blood... "

Gaius Julius Caesar whirled around to stare at Agron. How long had the man been conscious, how much could he have heard? It was of no matter anyhow, he would not live long enough to impart any information of value. Once Spartacus had been drawn into the open, they would all be dispatched with, this accursed war would be over, and Caesar would return to Rome and the glory that would await victorious hero!

"... and when he is done, ground will be stained with blood and your heads set upon pike for all of Rome to see! Agghh!" The half bark - half growl escaped Agron's lips before he could stop it. Even as it did, Nasir swam to the forefront of his mind again. How his heart teased him so about that little thing... "Long as I hear that sound followed by that of shield slamming against Roman armor whilst battle rages, I know you to still be for this world, " Nasir often told him. Had day arrived when Agron would cease to make such sound, and that Nasir should never again hear it? Many things had been left unsaid, much time wasted upon jealousies. Agron could only hope Nasir knew the depth of his love. That everything Agron now did in this world was with hope that someday, Nasir would live free, far from the cruelties of Roman rod and lash.

Caesar knelt in front of Agron, their visages just short distance apart. "Silence! Let us see if you still believe same after learning what awaits you, rebel! Now though, the Imperator would have you sleep. You will need strength to endure what comes next." Agron's eyes widened and he strained against his bonds, the same growl of frustration issuing forth. His powerful arms jerked at rope that bound wrists, he felt them begin to give way. A scowl passed Caesar's features, and for the second time that night, Agron felt impact of shield to head. He slumped as world began to spin, and then let himself be taken by the blackness. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The new recruits were piss poor at fighting, a thing that could be seen by all. "Why do I waste time with such when I could be searching for Agron," thought Nasir. He knew it would be pointless to question those stationed above him however. It was truly unthinkable to them that Agron would have fallen to harm. His fighting skill was most impressive, as he had been trained in the Murmillo style by none other than Oenomaus himself. Those whom his sword did not dispatch soon met Agron's heavy shield and did not rise again! Nasir was quite certain Agron many times purposely did not aim to kill with gladius, as he much preferred dull thud that came from shield cracking open Roman head!

For now, Nasir was testing the new men with a training sword made of wood, dull and edgeless. If any proved worthy, he would give them another go, but he would be armed with his spear, his weapon of choice. It was Agron who had suggested it; Nasir had at first balked at the idea! He had wanted sword & shield like Agron, or at least double daggers like that ferocious woman Saxa. A spear had felt like a weak man's weapon. Now it felt like an extension of own body, so familiar he was with it.

After disarming his current pupil and forcing him to the ground with sword at his neck, Nasir called for a moment. Immediately Donar, the huge German who had also been a gladiator of The House of Batiatus, walked towards him. One look at the man's face and it was clear Agron was on his mind as well. "Where is your man? Has something happened to him?"

"Would that I knew. When I woke before sunrise he was already gone, weapons and armor missing with him." Nasir frowned, his brow creasing with worry. Until he had broken the words it had still not seemed real that harm might have come to the man he had come to care for more than anything ever in his short life of only nineteen summers. Agron counted his age in winters, twenty-five of them, as that is how it was done east of the Rhine.

Donar's voice broke into Nasir's thoughts. "Perhaps time has come to tell Spartacus we have problem."

Nasir thought for only a moment. "No, I have better plan..."

 

Nasir picked his way quietly through brush. It had been easy enough to leave Donar in charge of the afternoon training and escape for awhile alone. Admittedly he had no clue which direction he might search for Agron in, but he prayed the Gods would show him the path. Soon enough he was rewarded with sounds of soldiers grumbling. "Tribune Caesar has said this war will be over soon, a trap is being prepared for Spartacus and his mongrel horde." A second voice "Yes, it's all owed to one they call Agron, from the lands east of the Rhine. If that oaf is a General of the Rebel Army, it's no wonder they are almost beaten!"

Nasir had to bite tongue to keep from charging straight out at them. He would not have them insult Agron so, but he also needed what information these fools had!

"If the Tribune is correct, Spartacus will mount rescue to save most valued rebel shit! When he makes attempt to free him, he will be attacked from higher vantage point by ballistae arriving from Rome in 2 days time."

Two days time... that meant if any attempt at rescue was to be made, it would have to be now. Before the Roman shits could set trap! Nasir was sure he had gleaned all he could, and much as he wanted to still the bleating of these soldiers forever, he knew doing so would only serve to alert Caesar and Crassus, so he retreated back from where he came, hedging straight for Spartacus to impart all he had learned.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hard stone under scraped and bloodied knees, hands bound behind back. These were things Agron noted as he drifted back toward consciousness. Cold all around him, no fire or cloak to keep body heat in. Nasir's hand not in his... Nasir! No, memory began to return. Memory of flight from tent into forest, Roman centurions surrounding him, that traitorous shit Caesar! Trap being laid out for Spartacus and for his love, because surely Nasir will come for him. Not even the Gods themselves could keep them from one another's arms. What they share is more powerful than anything Agron has ever known. He understands now how love could drive a man to rise up and incite rebellion as Spartacus had done after loss of beloved wife.

But now he is choking and sputtering, a bucket of dirty water begin thrown in his face. As Agron looks up he gets a good look at Marcus Crassus for the first time. A tall man, well honed and battle hardened, not unlike Spartacus, Agron and the rest. There is one important difference, thinks Agron. This man has never been gladiator. There lies our advantage. He is painfully aware that what keeps him alive now are the skills he learned while in bondage, training with Oenomaus, who even in death will always be only Doctore to Agron. Had he and Duro this knowledge back home, their village would never have fallen, their families would still be alive, Duro would yet breathe...

"Has he broken word?" Crassus asked of the guard.

"Only to heap rude curse upon us and you Imperator," came guard's reply.

"There is yet more upon tongue you fucking Roman shit..." Agron begins, and then is silenced by a blow to his face. He laughs, spits blood at the shocked Roman faces about him, and laughs again. He growls at his captors, and tries to rise, but he is tethered to pole at his back. This last act is met with kick to shoulder that sends white hot pain radiating down his arm and back.

"I would see tongue loosened to form proper word, knowledge of Spartacus and his plans and tactics are what is needed. Twenty lashes, if he is still not agreeable, break his fingers. Take care not to overdo it, I do not want him dead yet. Tomorrow we nail him to cross." With that Crassus turns on heel and disappears.

 

"Agron, from the lands east of the Rhine," sneered Caesar. "Would that task of softening your fool's tongue fell to me, yet I have other orders. The Imperator and I go to ensure weapons that will end the slaves forever arrive safely. Enjoy your lashing, it will hurt far less than it will when I crucify you upon my return."

 

Agron felt himself being pulled up as rope tying him to pole was cut. He was unsteady as he rose, trying to lash out. He pulled arm back, intending to swing at centurion nearest him, but in his daze, arm is easily caught and he is surrounded by too many. He is forced to turn and face the pole, wrists again being bound. He is hit again, and he can feel his eye swelling shut. As he hears sound of whip cutting through air, he turns his head, bites down on edge on wooden stake in front of him. He fills his mind with the images of all those he cares for, Donar, Saxa, Spartacus, and others, but mostly Nasir. As the lash lands, searing upon freezing back, he vows these Romans will not break him...

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as he was within sight of encampment, Nasir threw all caution to the wind, and sprinted as fast as legs would allow. He pushed past Gannicus, who tried to make one of his usual quips. Nasir had no time for such at present. One thing only mattered, and that was Agron!  
"Spartacus!" Nasir let out breathlessly as he pushed into the tent without bothering to announce himself. Inside Spartacus and Crixus were in deep conversation with map placed on table before them. "What is your meaning bursting through here in such manner?" bellowed Crixus. "And where is Agron? Does he think himself too important to hold conference with his betters?"

Normally Nasir would try and soothe situation with Crixus. Though tensions had faded somewhat, it appeared that the peace between Agron and the Gaul would always be uneasy. But at the moment Nasir only wished to speak to Spartacus.

"Remove yourself," Nasir spoke harshly to Crixus. "My words are for Spartacus alone."

Before the man could react, Spartacus was nudging him out of the tent flap with orders to stand guard a ways off, and not to allow entry to anyone. Once they were alone, their leader turned to face the smaller man. "Explain yourself!" Spartacus snapped. Nasir could tell he had angered their commander, but this could not wait. Immediately he launched into speech, beginning with waking alone in tent he shared with Agron up to his spying in woods. When he was finished, he was finally able to breathe easier, now it was in hands of Spartacus, who would no doubt have plan.

 

"Nasir, gratitude for all you have done, but things are not as simple as you would believe," Spartacus began.

"Yes, they are! I risked life to see Naevia from the mines, even when I knew it might lead to my death. Agron needs me now, and I will not leave his fate to the Gods, just as I did not leave Naevia to hers. Join me in attempt to rescue him or not, it matters not to me. But I will have him by my side once more, even if I fall in attempt and we are reunited only in the afterlife!"

"You mistake me, I too would see Agron from the hands of the Romans. But you will not be joining us. You will be reckless, and in turn may endanger our brothers. That I cannot have. Leave this to Crixus, Gannicus, Naevia, Saxa and myself. You will stay here, with Donar and Lugo to help you lead in my absence. Do not worry, we will return, with Agron. We depart at sundown."

Nasir was left feeling gutted. Not go? How could he not go? If roles were reversed nothing would stop Agron coming for him. No, that was not right. There was one thing, or one person. Spartacus. Much as Agron would hate it, much as he might froth and foam, Spartacus was the one person aside from Nasir who could always stop Agron cold. The two men had a respect and a love for one another that went beyond bond of gladiators. They had become brothers, and not simply because they bore same mark and fought for same cause.

"You cannot ask this of me. Spartacus, he is... I am..." Nasir's voice began to break, and he could not continue. A life without Agron in it, that would not be life at all. It would be merely existing, breathing in and out, walking to and fro, but not truly living.

"Nasir, you know I make no vow, for should I fail to keep it, you would never forgive me. But know that I will do everything within my power to see him returned to you." Spartacus stated. At this Nasir could only nod head in silence, and pray to the Gods that they bless Spartacus with success.   
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Agron could no longer stand, if it were not for bindings upon wrists, he would have sunk to hard ground. His back and shoulders were on fire, he could feel the blood running down his legs and pooling about feet. In the end he had cried out, guttural screams escaping throat as whip again and again rent flesh. But he was not broken yet, and when the Roman cunt demanded information on Spartacus and rebel army, Agron spit in his face and cursed at him in his native tongue. For that he was rewarded with fist to abdomen, making him dry heave. Still he laughed at them, how stupid they were to think Agron would ever betray brothers, or lover! He continued to berate them in German, the language he sometimes slipped into without intending to, when his passions overtook him.

Anger and frustration clouded face of centurion leading inquisition, "Mallet!" he barked at one of the men around him. Though he knew what was coming, Agron's stomach clenched tightly. He raged at his captors, even as the mallet rose and fell, striking his hands and robbing them of use.

Later, though how much so Agron could not tell... hours, days, weeks? Back was raw and stiff, heat coming off him in waves despite chill of evening. He opened eyes, not quite able to focus. Could not understand what he saw, hands bruised and swollen. Fingers misshapen and out of place, bent at odd angles. Try as he might he could not make them move. He lips moved of their own accord, forming one word over and over. If he was to fall from this world, it would be with name of heart upon thoughts and tongue. "Nasir," he murmured again and again. He closed eyes once more, and saw that beautiful face smiling at him. Honey colored eyes glittering in the candlelight, cheeks flushed with wine that nearly always went straight to Nasir's head. Long tresses the color of pitch tied back as his man trained in the square.

But then he saw another; one he loved just as dearly as Nasir. He was fair of skin like Agron, but with dark eyes and dark hair twisted into many braids that fell to nape of neck. It was Duro. "Bruder!" Agron wanted to shout, but throat could make no noise. He took a step forward, realized he was no longer bound, all pain gone from tortured body. Duro came towards him and clasped Agron's hand, whole once more. Agron pulled brother into tight embrace, no doubt crushing Duro's slightly smaller frame within strong arms. "I never thought to look upon you again, " Agron finally choked out. Hot tears spilled down cheek, but he no longer cared, all trace of proud warrior vanished. Duro was here, his little brother. The one who had arrived when Agron was only two, so that he could not remember a time when they were not together. Duro, who his mother had entrusted him with, telling Agron that he must always watch out for the younger boy, must see to his safety. Duro, whom Agron had failed miserably.

"Bruder," said Duro. "Time may come for us to be reunited in the afterlife, but that day will not be today. You must yet live, for both of us. Fight, for both of us. Love, for both of us."

"Nein," sobbed Agron. "Du bist mein Bruder, mein Freund..."

"And shall always remain such, and one day we will be together again. But now Agron, I must go, and you must stay. Live, mein Bruder, live..." Duro turned to walk away, leaving Agron behind. "No, Duro wait! Come back, do not leave me here alone again, I will not survive it this time! Duro!" Agron shouted his brother's name over and over, screamed it at Duro's retreating back until he could no longer form words and Duro was but speck upon horizon. Then he weeps, sobs, looses all his hurt and anger and rage and fear in deluge of tears that will not cease. Slowly he began to come back to himself, the cold biting into very marrow of his bones. Pain like nothing he has ever felt coming from hands and back, made worse by fact he is now alone, left behind on this earth again by beloved brother. This must be his curse, to forever be abandoned by those he cares for. First by Vatir, then Duro.

He was vaguely aware of sounds of shouting, metal clashing, the swish of what, arrows? More dreams and visions, he thinks to himself. He had been wrong to think his friends would come for him. They had probably abandoned him as well, leaving him to his fate. Perhaps it was what he deserved, he was a failure! Failed to protect his brother and now failed to protect even himself, allowing these Romans to capture him, put him again in shackles, use the lash upon his person!

But then he could hear Spartacus calling his name, "Agron... Agron!" Saxa cursing in German, Crixus' battle roar were the sounds that assaulted ear. He did not care, wished they would go away and leave him to die. Saxa was before him now, using her daggers to cut bindings from wrists, and Agron sagged to the floor, knees hitting frozen ground and sending jolt of pain that woke him somewhat. He could hear Crixus shouting, felt Gannicus pull him to his feet, and he groaned out loud when the Celt grabbed his broken hand to pull Argon's arm over his shoulder. Spartacus ripped off his own cloak and hastily wrapped it about Agron, who was wearing only subligaria. He grabbed Agron's other arm, and between he and the Celt, they half dragged, half carried the large German towards the cover of trees.

"The guards.." Agron whispered.

"All dead, as you would have been soon if not for us!" said Crixus through clenched teeth. "Now is not the time," Spartcaus said with authority. "We have killed them all, but we cannot take chance that more will not be coming by to check. This is but small outpost, the whole of Crassus' army is not far away. Agron is injured, and we must get him back to encampment."

The rest of the trip back was a blur to Agron, who walked along without feeling. He had yet to even say gratitude to his brothers, because he felt hollow and dead inside. The only thing that assured him he was still of the world was the pain and heat from his torn back and mangled hands. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Nasir waited at edge of camp with Laeta by his side, holding his hand in hers. The Roman woman, who had suffered much by way of Marcus Crassus, had become a dear friend to him in a very short time. She now stood fugitivus as the rest of them, and struggled to earn place among the rebels, thing made easier by fact of Nasir and Spartacus vouching for her character.

"Do not fret so, Spartacus will bring him back to you. We know the man has already done the impossible, what is one more miracle to The Bringer of Rain?"

"Twas not long ago Agron told you he wished you to the afterlife, but for mercy of Spartacus. How do you now stand with me, hoping for his return?" Nasir questioned.

"I pray to the Gods for you Nasir, who nursed me when I was wounded by Roman spear. You, who have always shown me kindness, even when I yet stood Roman. I understand now also that Agron could not help his feelings, and I wish the man no harm. He is loyal brother to Spartacus, and his passing would wound our leader so." She said this last with blush upon her cheek and eyes downcast. Despite inner turmoil, Nasir did not fail to note such, and inwardly he smiled. Spartacus had suffered much in this life, and he deserved a measure of comfort and joy. If it could be found in Laeta's arms, then so be it. The former Roman woman would never be warrior, that much was certain. But she had been Domina of her own house, and could be of great value to Spartacus if he would but allow it.

An easy silence fell between them, one Nasir used to offer up prayers to the Gods, Roman ones, those he knew of Agron's people, the few he remembered from his own homeland of Assyria. Prayers that were answered because there, off in the distance, he could see a small band making their way towards the camp. They did not wear the uniform of Crassus, but the mismatched armor and cloaks of the rebels. One figure among them stood above the others, two slightly shorter ones supporting him on either side. Nasir's breath caught in his chest, he would know that silhouette anywhere. Tears of relief spilled from huge, brown eyes. His life was being returned to him, it would seem the Gods truly did favor them.

"Go to him," Laeta encouraged. Nasir let go her hand, and feet moved forward, carrying him to the one who held his heart. His place was forever by Agron's side, and he would never let his beautiful German man forget it.

Agron felt Gannicus and Spartacus come to a halt, and without their aid, he had not the strength to continue. His legs ceased to carry him forward, and so he stood still, head hanging, body slightly swaying from effort of remaining on his feet.

As Nasir came to stand in front of Agron, he reached a hand up to cup his love's face. At the touch, Agron raised his head slowly, and looked into the shining eyes of the one he belonged to. Yes, Agron had been owned before, as a gladiator, but that was different. This was love in its purest form, and Agron gladly gave himself over to Nasir. Mein herz, he thought. My heart. In that moment he felt his life come back to him, remembered Duro's words in his vision.

"The Gods return you to my arms," Nasir said softly, never taking his eyes from Agron's sad green ones. "I was fool to ever leave them," came Agron's soft murmur back.  
"Live, fight, love, for both of us," Duro had asked of him. And Agron would, with Nasir at his side, till day death came for them.

FINIS

**Author's Note:**

> I finished this just after "The Dead and The Dying" so a few lines are taken directly from there. It just broke my heart to see Agron on the cross, and I knew I couldn't write it that way. Apologies if the change-up is not to your liking.


End file.
